


The Breaking of the Day

by lotus0kid



Category: Dead Fish (2005), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 09:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21251432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotus0kid/pseuds/lotus0kid
Summary: Sequel toNo Light Over London. New friends and new enemies appear as Danny and Belle venture deeper into the world of London's ghosts, and make a discovery that could change the nature of reality itself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little teaser for Halloween! Can't say when the rest will come, but it's my next priority after [No Good Deed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17753288/chapters/41888108).

Danny sniffs, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and leans back against his desk. “Right then, take your shirt off.”

The eyes of the young woman before him nearly bug out of her head and he suppresses a smirk. He’s almost definitely not going to hire her. He mostly just liked the bravery that flew like a banner as she strode into his office. It’s familiarity warmed him. Nonetheless, her wild mane of copper curls might be appealing, but not to many. Plus that fucking thick as mud Scottish accent means he can’t use her anywhere but on stage. And body-wise she looks more brawny than buxom. That’s three strikes, but he might as well get a look at the goods just to be certain of his decision.

This is his thinking before the air next to the woman wavers and congeals into the form of a ginger mountain of a man wearing a scowl so fucking furious Danny’d be dead where he stands if this visitor was alive.

The woman has raised the hem of her shirt above her navel by the time Danny barks out, “Forget it. Can’t use you. Hit the fucking pavement.”

She freezes and blinks in almost cute puzzlement. “Wait, I dinnae-“

The ghost’s massive hands clench into fists.

Danny swallows, and jabs a finger at the woman. “Didn’t you fucking hear what I said? Piss off before I call security.”

The bravery that carried her through the door sparks in her eyes and her chin sticks out like she’s actually going to demand to strip in front of him, but the ghost uncurls one fist and lays it on her shoulder. The fire in her dims, though not enough to stop her from throwing Danny a two-finger salute as she spins on a heel and stomps out.

The ghost doesn’t follow, and is in fact still scowling hard enough to take Danny’s head off.

Danny frowns at him. “Well float along then,” he says, “Count yourself lucky my girlfriend’s not here, or we’d send you to where you fucking belong like _that_.” He snaps his fingers.

The ghost looks not at all impressed. His fists clench tight, and the air darkens around him like coalescing storm clouds. A frigid wind rushes at Danny and he just manages to exclaim, “The fuck-?!” before the ghost charges, right fist rearing back to slam into his skull.

However, just as it swings around, Danny’s left hand shoots out and clamps onto it. Danny and the ghost exchange brief looks of equal surprise, but then something within Danny squirms like a roused snake, and an unearthly titter bubbles out from between his lips. “Dearie, dearie, dear,” he hears himself croon in a voice that isn’t his own, “That was what one might call a mistake.”

The thing in Danny tightens his grip on the ghost’s fist and presses forward. The ghost’s eyes widen as white vapor swirls up his arm, swiftly covering his whole body. Danny can’t stop, can’t let go. And he doesn’t want to. Warmth is rolling into him like he’s only felt when reaching for Belle’s light. This feels different in a way he can’t explain, but it’s still so good he nearly whimpers with loss when the ghost has been reduced to a silver wisp and his hand falls away.

He staggers back as the wisp hovers for an uncertain second then zips through the wall. Danny’s arse hits his desk and his legs fold under him. The thing inside still squirms, but now it’s more like a contented cat stretching and settling for a doze. He wraps his arms tight around his torso while dragging in and blowing out shuddery breaths.

“What the _fuck_?” he whispers. When he can’t take the answerless silence around him anymore, he climbs to his feet and stumbles to his private toilet.

After splashing his face thoroughly at the sink, his gaze jumps to his reflection in the mirror above it, and his whole body clenches in shock. The eyes looking back at him are not what he’s always seen. They’ve gained wide green-gold-brown irises that almost look reptilian. Danny blinks as hard as he can over and over, but those utterly inhuman eyes continue to stare at him.

“J-Jesus Christ...” he mutters, then darts out of the toilet and over to his desk, frantically digging through the drawers in hopes of finding a pair of sunglasses to hide this freakish development from the world.

His luck continues to hold at zero when the door to his office bursts open and the alive Scottish ginger storms inside. “You listen ta’ me, ya’ wee blagger!” she roars directly in his face. Danny doesn’t listen to the rest of her incomprehensible rant, just waits for her to notice he’s sporting eyes like a fucking crocodile. It doesn’t happen, and he can’t entirely chalk it up to her outrage.

When she falls silent, he says, “Noted. Now fuck off.”

She growls something that’s probably a threat and maybe not in English, then whips around and marches out once again, leaving Danny to drop his heavy head in one hand and heave a baffled sigh.

He shuts his altered eyes and tentatively pokes around within himself. The thing there, the demon, the Dark One, stirs a little but stays put. He’s suspected it for a while and now he has proof. Whatever it was Belle tried to do to save him that night on Tintagel Road, it failed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! More of this does exist, it's just... *gestures vaguely at everything*

Belle has had just about enough of death. First it took her mother when she was still young. Then it ripped her father from her, and subsequently became an even stranger presence in her life. And now here she sits at another bedside, watching a loved one slip away. That Rosalyn Potts isn’t a blood relative makes no difference. She was the grandmother Belle never had, a teacher kind enough to take a motherless child home and feed her supper while Moe was at work. Belle could hardly breathe when she got the news of Mrs. Potts’ sudden stroke. Chip Potts didn’t even need to ask- she was on the first flight to Melbourne that she could afford.

Mrs. Potts has opened her eyes a few times since Belle arrived, and Belle hopes she’s recognized her old student, but the possibility of her becoming lucid is dim. Her eyes have stopped opening, and her brain scans aren’t improving. Her life signs are beginning to ebb. It’s only a matter of time now. Belle watches Mrs. Potts’ chest rise and fall with her few remaining breaths.

Her bleak vigil is interrupted by Chip entering the hospital room with two steaming cups. Belle musters a smile as she accepts her tea and Chip takes a seat. The beep of the heart monitor is like a steady drip of water in an enormous cavern.

“If I’d only been there...” Chip murmurs, as he has done multiple times a day since Belle came. “She just... she was always fine, when we talked. No worries, nothing exciting. I never thought... I just never _thought_.”

Belle dutifully delivers her now rote reply, “It can happen like that. At least she’s not in any pain.”

“Yeah,” he says, nearly gasps like a drowning man sucking in air, “Yeah.”

“I might grab a snack to go with this. Want anything?”

“Hunh? Uh, nah, cheers.”

Belle leaves Chip to his tortured musings and heads down the hall to a nearby vending machine. She’s got a packet of crisps in hand by the time alarms start going off. She can only stand and watch as nurses and doctors rush into Mrs. Potts’ room. Belle’s hand rises to her heart as she wonders vaguely if she’ll feel the moment her old friend leaves this world.

There might be a thrum within the golden light. She’s not sure. Shouldn’t she be able to tell?

Belle’s feet carry her forward, but she stops when she hears the flat, undeniable whine of a heart monitor with nothing left to monitor. She can’t go in. She can’t make herself look. Anyway, Chip trudges out shortly, hands clamped on his head as he sobs quietly. Belle goes to him, wraps an arm around his shoulders and leads him away from the room. There are things to do, after the end.

The funeral goes smoothly, and Chip’s friends are there to hold him together when Belle’s not. She’s more than ready to go the night before her plane leaves. She’s shored up the new damage in her heart, accepted that her world will forever be a little lonelier. There’s nothing much left to do.

It would be nice if she could sleep, just to make it slightly easier to handle her upcoming twenty-four hours of travel. After rolling back and forth on the sofa in Mrs. Potts’ living room for another few minutes, she opens eyes that won’t stay shut and peers at a clock on the wall. Some quick calculations tell her it’s around one in the afternoon in London. Just around the start of Danny’s day. They haven’t talked much recently, exchanging the odd “good morning” and “good night” texts. Belle blames the time difference. But maybe if she can catch him now, and just listen to him tell a silly story for a while, she might be able to drift off.

She grabs her phone from the coffee table before any second thoughts can creep in and selects Danny’s contact. It rings for so long she’s preparing a voicemail in her head when suddenly a voice says, “_Hey. Hey, Belle._”

“Hey, Danny,” she replies with a soft smile as a knot of tension she didn’t realize she was carrying releases.

“_You okay?_”

“Yeah. Just can’t sleep. I want to get home. I miss you.”

“_Uh- uh huh, miss you too. Lots._”

His distracted tone starts a new knot winding up. “Are you okay, Danny?”

“_Yeah! Totally. I’m- I’m just..._”

“Danny-”

“_It’s fine. We can talk later. When you’re back. It’s no problem._”

That may be the most sentences she’s ever heard him speak without swearing, which worries her that much more. “Are you sure? I’m not busy right now...”

“_No. I mean, you should rest. I’ll- I’ll see you when you’re back. It’ll be grand._”

Maybe he’s planning some kind of welcome home party. Belle’s mostly sure she’ll want to just curl up in bed with him and sleep for a few days, but she could probably scrape together enough energy to go to dinner or something. If that is what’s happening, as she is choosing to believe. “Okay, we’ll talk then. Bye, love.”

“_Right, yeah, see you soon. Bye._”

Then he’s gone, and Belle is more awake than she was before. Anyway, she shouldn’t sleep now. There’s so much to do. So much to do. Chip will need his lunch for tomorrow. And then there’s the laundry to get to. And she hasn’t rung Amelia yet about borrowing the iron. And the milk’s almost off...

Belle blinks and shakes her head, forcing away someone else’s to-do list as it scrolls through her brain. She sits up, and freezes as she senses a presence in the moonlit kitchen.

“Oh no,” Belle whispers, “Oh, please no.”

But all her begging doesn’t stop the ghost of Mrs. Potts from puttering around, doing her chores as if it’s just another day, no worries, no excitement. And as Belle’s stomach sinks even deeper, the soft moonlight bends around an invisible figure, describing more detail until she can _see_ Mrs. Potts, like she’s never seen a ghost without having Danny’s hand to hold.

This is perfectly baffling, but it soon takes a backseat to the certainty that she can’t possibly leave Mrs. Potts to haunt this house for who knows how long. She has to do something, even though she doesn’t have Danny’s help. But then, how much help did he give her when they dealt with her father’s ghost? They weren’t holding hands then- Belle sent Moe on alone. Maybe, if it’s someone she loves, she can take care of them herself.

Belle slowly rises from the couch and inches toward the kitchen. The ghost doesn’t seem to notice her, and Belle can’t help pausing to watch her dear friend, freed from the hospital bed and monitoring equipment, carrying on like her lack of a physical body isn’t worth mentioning. Eventually Belle forces herself to say, “Mrs. Potts.”

The ghost’s head twitches up, but just as quickly returns to her chores.

Belle moves into the kitchen, calling again from a step away. Mrs. Potts goes still, and lays her hands on the counter. “Something happened to you,” Belle explains as gently as she can, “You’re not supposed to be here anymore. You’re supposed to move on. I’m sorry.”

She brings her hand to her heart, and feels a strong pulse of warmth. It flows down her arm, urging her to hold it up with her palm facing out. There in the kitchen, reality splits open to reveal a tunnel of golden light. The shine of it burns a little on her skin. Mrs. Potts seems to cringe where she stands.

“Please, Mrs. Potts. You can’t stay here. It’ll be all right. You just need to let go.”

Her hands clench at the edge of the counter. Belle searches for something more to say than generic platitudes. Mrs. Potts always preached the use of specific details.

“Do you remember... when I found that butterfly? It’d gotten trapped in the girls’ toilet, and by the time I got to it, it was exhausted and dehydrated. And we tried to help it, but it just... it was too late. And you told me that everything has its time. And it’s sad when it’s short, but there’s just no use arguing about it. Your time here has ended. Now you’ll see what comes next.”

The ghost seems to take a breath, then push away from the counter. She turns to Belle, one insubstantial hand rising to brush her cheek like a cool breeze. Hot tears blur Belle’s sight of Mrs. Potts walking into the golden light. It winks out behind her, leaving Belle to stand in the now pitch dark kitchen, her heart in ruins all over again.

Once the strongest sobs abate, she goes to the toilet to blow her nose and wash her face. But as she draws a towel down past her eyes, she finds her reflection in the mirror and chokes on a shriek at the sight of twin golden embers where her eyes should be. The towel drops from her nerveless hands as she unwillingly peers closer, blinking again and again and still seeing the impossible lights in her eyes. How can she even do that? How can she see anything but that light? The world around her looks normal, free of two gold patches wherever she looks as if her eyes are a car’s headlamps.

For lack of any better ideas, Belle returns to the sofa and lies down. But she doesn’t waste a second believing she’s going to sleep tonight.


End file.
